Yer a witch, Harriet!
by TheDeathlyMarshmallows
Summary: 'Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They had a neatly kept front garden, a pleasant social circle of like-minded friends, and they were dead set against the new craze of girls wearing tights in replacement of good old-fashioned jeans.'-AU retelling of the first book starring genderbent characters
1. The Girl Who Managed To Not Die

_Authors Notes: Why I've started a new fic when I already have two to complete is anybody's guess. But on the plus side it was really fun to write._

_This is basically going to be a (hopefully) humorous retelling of The Philosopher's Stone, except with many of the characters having switched genders. I.e. Harry is now Harriet, Albus Dumbledore is now Alberta Dumbledore, etc. However some of the characters will remain in their canon gender because I didn't really see any major reason why they should switch - for example Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. There'll also be some bad language, but not a lot of it!_

_Anyway, enough from me - ENJOY THE FIRST CHAPTER YOU LOVELIES!_

_(Also the obvious disclaimer that I don't own Harry Potter or anything to do with it etc etc. Like seriously would I even be here doing this if I did?)_

_EDIT: Made Hilgrid's name consistent after accidentally switching it to Hildrid half way through... thanks to Fire The Canon for noticing the mistake and telling me!_

_EDIT NUMERO TWO: After having the topic brought up by cheese123m, I'd just like to make clear that this story is set NOW as in the year 2013. So modern references to e.g. the Kardashians or Lady Gaga etc etc will be made for the sake of humour throughout. Also in this story there is modern technology e.g. mobile phones - though they will be used very sparingly._

* * *

**'Yer a witch, Harriet!**

* * *

1.

THE GIRL WHO MANAGED TO NOT DIE THAT ONE TIME

(this isn't Game of Thrones, you know)

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They had a neatly kept front garden, a pleasant social circle of like-minded friends, and they were dead set against the new craze of girls wearing tights in replacement of good old-fashioned jeans.

Unfortunately for them, an aging woman with half-moon spectacles and a nose like a beak who thought she knew best _at all times_, was about to metaphorically punch them both in the gut, change their lives forever and then disappear as if she'd never done anything illegal at all. But that came later...

As it was, on this particular morning, Mr. Dursley was leisurely getting ready for work as Mrs. Dursley was valiantly attempting to cope with their large, meaty slug of a child.

"She won't get in the bloody high chair, Vernon!"

"That's because you're attempting to defy physics, Petunia. She's too fat."

"No she isn't!"

"Yes she is. Have you even seen our child lately? She looks like the human embodiment of McDonalds."

"IT'S JUST BABY FAT!"

Vernon knew better than to argue with his wife on the subject matter of how extremely fast their daughter Doretta was expanding (he had remarked once before it was 'rivalling the rate of the universe's expansion' but Petunia had hit him over the head with an oven glove), so he let out a sigh and a small mumbled agreement before diverting his attention to putting the kettle on. Petunia was probably just snappy because of the weighty section of the plot that had been resting on their shoulders for the greater part of their lives.

You see, the Dursleys weren't half as normal as they liked people to think. Petunia's very own sister, Lily Potter, was as un-normal as they come, and so was her husband and their scrawny twig of a daughter. The Dursleys lived in fear that the Potters would come to visit because the neighbours would stare and Petunia and Vernon hated feeling judged. Which was ironic since they judged everyone else within milliseconds of clapping eyes on them.

But on this day there seemed to be no sign of the Potters, so the Dursleys were _safe_. Or as safe as they could be living in the same house as their own daughter, who was screaming and hurling her food across the room with all the violent intent of a miniature version of the Hulk.

"WHY WON'T YOU _DO_ SOMETHING, VERNON?!" Mrs. Dursley shrieked, baby food dripping down from her hair and onto her face "WHY WON'T YOU HIRE A NANNY OR SOMETHING, I CAN'T COPE FOR GOD'S SAKE, SHE'S GOING TO GROW UP _EMOTIONALLY STUNTED_!"

"Well at least you won't have to worry about her being _physically_ stunted too, Petunia dear." Mr. Dursley had to duck from an incoming plate on his way out the door.

But it was as he was making his way to his car that Mr. Dursley saw something strange. Something very un-tranquil-suburban-esque. A tabby cat on the corner of the road attempting to drag what looked like a broom underneath a hedge and out of sight. The cat glanced up and made eye contact with him, paused for a seconds, then dropped the end of the broom from its mouth and let out a loud meow that sounded surprisingly like the word 'wank'.

Of course the cat couldn't have actually said 'wank', Mr. Dursley knew that because it was far too rude an occurrence to happen on their street and also physically impossible. So, after staring confusedly at the cat for a few moments longer, Mr. Dursley hauled himself into his car and pulled out of the drive. He tried to tell himself that as he passed the cat by it didn't give him a little awkward wave of a paw.

He also tried to tell himself, as he stopped at a set of traffic lights, that the entire population of England hadn't taken Lady Gaga's lead on the fashion front and opted to dress like someone with deep rooted social issues. There were people in cloaks and capes and pointed hats and shoes that curled up at the end, all in the most outrageous of colours! And as if that wasn't _quite enough_ of a display of stupidity, they were all whooping and cheering as if some fantastic event had taken place that would change the face of the Earth forever. Well, Mr. Dursley was a man of logic and reason, and he knew for a fact no such event had taken place otherwise he would have seen it on the news that very morning. _The nerve of some people!_

As the traffic lights began to change, Mr. Dursley quickly rolled down his window and barked "Get some real clothes, you lunatics! We don't all worship that Gaga woman and her bloody meat dress!" before pressing firmly down on the gas pedal and accelerating away.

Forgetting his vaguely traumatic experiences, Mr. Dursley had a pleasant rest of the morning at Grunnings, his place of work, where he spent his time in the office playing minesweeper and pacman on the computer. Mrs. Dursley rang once or twice screaming something about 'HAVING A BREAKDOWN', 'SHE'S UNCONTROLLABLE' and 'THE KITCHEN IS ON FIRE', but Mr. Dursley couldn't quite make it out over the sounds of Doretta shrieking in the background.

If Mr. Dursley hadn't been so busy working hard, he might have noticed that what seemed to be the larger portion of the owl population of Britain was flying past his office window. He might also have noticed the loud panicked sounds of people on the streets below shrieking that it must be a sign of the apocalypse.

But as it was Mr. Dursley remained blissfully unaware of any peculiar happenings until lunchtime, when his stomach gave a loud grumble of displeasure and he decided to appease it by going to the bakery opposite and buying himself as many artery clogging delectable's as he could.

Sadly for Mr. Dursley, a group of the Lady Gaga fanatics had also embarked on a similar quest and were to be found chatting to one another outside the door to the bakery as they munched on their various sugary treats.

"...blew up the entire house apparently, but couldn't blow up Harriet Potter."

"That doesn't even make any sense, she's only a baby."

"What the fuck man, I couldn't even walk until I was three yet she defeats you-know-who with absolutely no effort whatsoever?"

"I know right? It's so unfair."

"Like was that even fucking necessary-"

_And such foul language too! _He pushed irritably past them, bought five of the biggest bags of jam doughnuts that were on sale, and then headed back towards Grunnings. As he waited for the lights to change on the pedestrian crossing, one of cloaked maniacs let out a loud wail.

"_Oh man_! I just got a text from my mum."

"What's it say?"

"'So a baby can destroy the most powerful dark lord of all time but you can't take the trash out? You're ass close to being grounded young lady'."

"...awkward..."

It was only when he was safely seated back at his desk in the office that Mr. Dursley really had time to process what he'd just heard. _Harriet Potter_, they'd said. _Harriet. Harriet Potter_. Could it be...?

No, no, no. It was quite out of the question. There were billions of people in the world and there was surely more than _one_ Harriet Potter. In fact, was he even sure Lily's daughter _was_ called Harriet? Maybe she was called...Helga...or...Hummus. Yes. Yes that was _much_ more likely. Mr. Dursley settled back into another game of pacman.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened again until the evening, when Mr. Dursley pulled into his drive and heaved himself out of the car, only to notice _yet another_ gaggle of cloaked ruffians walking past his house. The shortest of them glanced his way and grinned. "A very good evening to you, sir! I hope even you Muggles are celebrating such a wonderful day!" The young man's friends laughed loudly and clapped him on the back as they made their way down the street, leaving Mr. Dursley to stand dumbfounded in his driveway.

_What the bloody hell was a Muggle?_ He ground his teeth together. _And why was that blasted cat still there?!_

Explanation or no explanation, the tabby was contentedly sat by the road sign to 'Privet Drive'...and..._was it wearing glasses now?!_ Well this was just getting ridiculous! Mr. Dursley shook his head in frustrated disbelief and stomped moodily to his front door.

When he entered, Mrs. Dursley immediately bombarded him with complaints about the anti-social behaviour of their only child and how she'd been 'left alone to fend against a raging inferno herself', but Mr. Dursley quashed any hope she had of sympathy by reminding her how hard he worked every day and how he was on his 'last legs'.

Heroically avoiding the charred state of the kitchen and leaving his wife to attempt to clean it up to at least a _mildly_ respectable state, Mr. Dursley relaxed into his favourite armchair directly opposite the HD television and switched on the news. Sadly for Mr. Dursley, however, the news proved to be as strange as the rest of his day.

"It seems the entire population of owls in Britain have become _early birds_ today, despite their usual nocturnal habits." The presenter said, looking far more pleased with their atrocious attempt at a joke than they should have, "Thousands of owls have been spotted taking to the sky throughout the day, with many believing their unnatural behaviour to be a sign of the apocalypse. Some families have even taken emergency precautions and stocked up on vast amounts of food, causing shops across the country to announce record sales even in this harsh economic climate. Now over to Jane McGlocklin for the weather. Is it going to be raining feathers tonight, Jane?"

The camera switched to the weather presenter, Jane McGlocklin, who could not have looked less amused by this second completely unwanted and utterly diabolical joke had she physically tried. "...Was that meant to be a pun on the song 'Raining Men'...?" She queried, apparently unaware that the camera was already rolling. However the people backstage were under no such delusion and evidently screamed at Jane McGlocklin through her earpiece as she gave a sudden, surprised jump and quickly turned to face the camera with a large, beaming smile.

"Haha, good one Terrence!" Jane said, although she had just indicated the complete opposite "But it looks like it's just going to be raining...rain tonight!"

The horrific jokes had also been lost on Mr. Dursley, who looked as though he might be violently sick at any given moment. This was largely because he was engaging in the delicate art of _thinking_, something he had never truly been accustomed to and something that was causing him more pain than productivity.

_A cat dragging a broom under a hedge...an inexplicable number of Lady Gaga fans...thousands of sightings of owls during the day...and...and... _Mr. Dursley frowned intensely, struggling to keep up with the demands of logical thought _...and something about hummus?_

Just like that, the answer to the pieces of this exceptionally easy puzzle got away from him and Mr. Dursley was left with nothing. It was only when Mrs. Dursley entered the room, looking rather singed and more than slightly despairing, and sat down on the chair opposite, lamenting sorrowfully "I think Doretta is becoming as socially inept as my own sister" that Mr. Dursley finally fit all the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Your sisters' lot are up to something." Mr. Dursley announced, completely ignoring his wife's grievances about their only child.

"I thought we agreed not to talk about my sister." Mrs. Dursley snapped back, looking thoroughly insulted despite being the one to bring up her sisters' existence in the first place.

"Quite right, Petunia dear...but there's strange reports on the news," Mr. Dursley continued "Lots of owls flying about and possibly the start of the apocalypse-"

"I've had my own apocalypse here today with Doretta, Vernon." Mrs. Dursley hissed back, narrowing her eyes dangerously at her husband "Yet you don't seem to care about _that_."

"Yes, but-"

"Do you care more about my sister than you do _me_? _Is that it, Vernon_?"

"No, no! Of course not-"

"Then you'll stop talking about her _immediately_."

And Mr. Dursley, thinking that he would like to live to see another day, decided to do just that.

* * *

It was only when the Dursley's finally went to bed (wrestling Doretta into her cot had taken two hours and a _colossal_ team effort) that things on Privet Drive took a decidedly _weirder _turn.

The tabby cat, which was still adamantly wearing glasses despite the fact that cats didn't wear glasses, was staring fixatedly at the other end of the street. And it just so happened that at the other end of the street there appeared a woman. Not 'appeared' as in 'suddenly-walked-round-the-corner-and-came-into-view', but 'appeared' as in 'literally-just-popped-into-existence-without-warning-or-care'.

The cat did not look impressed. (Although it must be noted that this was something rather easy to achieve as cats rarely ever look impressed and spend approximately ninety percent of their life viewing the world with an expression that causes one to believe they are mildly offended by literally everything they encounter).

The woman who had just casually defied the laws of physics and literally _'appeared'_ was not the kind of woman you would expect to see taking a gander down Privet Drive. This was mainly because she looked as though she were slightly mentally unhinged and could possibly be a serial killer in her spare time, but also because she was waving a cigarette lighter irritably at a nearby lamppost for apparently no reason.

"_Bloody magic gadgets never work when you want them to_!" She said through grit teeth, shaking the lighter up and down violently in the vague hope it might inspire some life out of the useless object.

This strange woman's name was Alberta Dumbledore. She was very tall, very slim and very old and had a nose very reminiscent of a beak. Her silver hair was exceptionally long (probably too long to remain practical) and her eyes were a startlingly bright shade of blue behind her half-moon spectacles. She was wearing robes that rivalled the length of her hair, a cloak that was a most distressingly intense shade of violet, and high-heeled boots that caused one to worry for her safety given her ancient age and probable lack of balance.

Alberta Dumbledore also seemingly didn't care that her appearance, along with her bizarre antics with the lighter, would be _anything_ but reassuring to any passers-by.

The cat, who had been watching this spectacle unfold for at least five minutes by this point, rolled its eyes and slowly began to saunter over to the other end of the street.

"I should have known _you'd_ be here," Alberta commented tetchily, still wrestling with the lighter as the cat plonked itself down beside the lamppost "Any excuse to turn into a cat, _honestly_."

"How did you know it was me?" The cat asked, although by this juncture in the conversation it had leisurely transformed into a slightly dishevelled looking man who was hugging a green cloak tightly around himself.

Alberta glanced up from her apparently worthless lighter to the man and gave a scowl. "You had forgotten to take off your glasses _again_, Professor McGonagall. Just like you do every time."

"_Wank_!" Professor McGonagall said in polite reply as he fumbled in his haste to take his glasses off, only to realise that he wore them for a _reason_ when he was in human form (he needed them to see, you see) so immediately put them back on. "Well at least I haven't forgotten how to use my own deluminator." He said defensively, looking to the lighter in evident distaste.

"You shut your mouth." Alberta replied, focusing on the lighter once more "I dropped it near the Whomping Willow once and it's never been the same since."

"...Ah yes, remind me again _why_ exactly we still have that tree in the school grounds?"

"_Werewolves_." Alberta said ominously.

The two exchanged looks.

"But we don't have a werewolf attending Hogwarts anymore." Professor McGonagall pointed out, looking highly unimpressed for the second time that day.

"You shut your mouth." Alberta snapped back, also for the second time that day. It was at this moment in the conversation that things took a turn for the better as the lighter suddenly emitted a small hiccoughing noise and the light from the lamppost promptly died. "Oh _lovely_," Alberta enthused happily "That's just as dramatic as I remember it being."

Professor McGonagall thinking that it was, in fact, one of the most _undramatic_ things he'd seen in his life, decided not to reply. It was best not to encourage Alberta's antics after all.

"I presume you were not involved in any of the celebrations today?" Alberta commented casually as she began waving the lighter around in an elaborately trigger-happy display. Almost every lamppost on the street went out, one after another.

"Of course not." Professor McGonagall answered irritably "It's a complete and utter shambles. Owls flying around all over the place, for God's sake-"

"Apparently the Muggles are under the impression it's a sign of the apocalypse." Alberta said pleasantly, putting the lighter away somewhere underneath her cloak. Professor McGonagall didn't want to know where.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. It's a mess."

"Oh, I don't think it's all that bad. The Muggles seem to like having a good apocalypse scare once every couple of years. It puts things in perspective."

"Well as lovely as that sentiment is, I always thought the secrecy of the _entire wizarding world_ from Muggles was of rather higher priority-"

"_Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh_," Alberta interrupted soothingly, patting Professor McGonagall gently on the shoulder whilst steering him towards number four Privet Drive "Let us not worry about the _logistics_ of things so much, hm?"

"But people are literally walking around in witches and wizards clothing _in broad daylight_," Professor McGonagall attempted "The Muggles are only going to assume they're Lady Gaga fans for so long."

"Now, now, nobody likes a fun sponge." Alberta replied, signalling the end of the discussion. They continued along the street in a somewhat disgruntled silence for a moment or two.

And then, "Was You-Know-Who _really_ defeated by a _baby_?"

Alberta rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Well the kid is still alive and Vildemort has disappeared into thin air, what do _you_ think?"

Professor McGonagall looked like he thought it was the most ridiculous situation to have ever occurred since the Kardashians became famous despite boasting absolutely no talents whatsoever. "I think it's absurd to believe that the most powerful witch in our lifetime was killed by a baby."

"Yes well this is why I don't ask for your opinion on things." Alberta retorted, looking personally offended. "You always have to be so _rational._"

"_Somebody_ has to be otherwise the school would have run into the ground by now."

"You shut your mouth."

Another short-lived and slightly tense silence.

"Rumour on the street is that Vildemort went to Godric's Hollow last night" Professor McGonagall started again, "And although the baby survived, Lily and James-"

"_Completely_ fried." Alberta announced, popping what looked like a Haribo gummy bear into her mouth. Where she'd retrieved it from was anyone's guess. "That avada kedavra really does some damage."

Another pause in the conversation as Professor McGonagall struggled to find exactly what part of Alberta's comment he found the most offensive. It turned out it was all of it. "First of all, _of course_ it does some damage it's the _killing curse_, and second of all you can't talk about Lily and James Potter like that! They used to be our _students_-"

"James was a right knob." Alberta remarked unsympathetically.

"But they've just _died_-"

"Well that doesn't change anything, does it?"

Professor McGonagall was looking as offended as physically possible. "You leave me speechless sometimes, do you know that?"

"It's a talent you acquire with age." Alberta said, rummaging around in her cloak for another Haribo. "Right now I am more concerned about how _late_ Hilgrid is. She was supposed to meet me here a quarter of an hour ago."

"Yes, I know." Professor McGonagall said, still looking a bit miffed "She was the one who told me you would be here after all."

Alberta looked outraged. "_I should have her sacked_."

"Let's not-"

"That's a top priority secret she's divulged to you-"

"Well-"

"What if she'd told _Quirrell_?! There's something _suspicious_ about that one, I tell you-"

It was at this moment in the conversation that a loud roaring noise echoed out around them and drowned out the sound of their voices. Looking highly alarmed, Professor McGonagall whipped around to view the sky behind them, which proved to only further his panic when he clapped eyes on the giant flying motorcycle headed their way. "_What the-_"

"Hilgrid! _You are late!_" Alberta yelled in greeting, apparently unfazed by the fact they could be squashed and killed at any moment by the incoming automotive.

Luckily for the duo fate seemed to have other ideas as the motorcycle slammed onto the road and screeched to a halt, stopping mere inches away from their feet. If nobody had been awake on Privet Drive they surely would be now.

Upon this motorcycle was a giant woman. The word 'giant' is meant literally here since she was, in fact, half-giant. She was at least twice the size of Alberta, who was very tall herself, and boasted a generously sized girth too. This, by itself, would have probably caused her to stand out in a crowd, but the wild mess of black hair and the apparent indulgence in growing a beard despite being female assured it.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Dumbledore, ma'am" Hilgrid said, dismounting from the motorcycle in a highly ungraceful manner. She held a bundle of blankets protectively in her arms. "Got the motorcycle stuck in a McDonalds drive through."

Alberta eyed Hilgrid for a moment and then nodded. McDonalds was serious business even in the wizarding world. "Entirely understandable. Is that her?"

"Yes, ma'am, right here in these blankets."

Alberta Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall leant forwards to take a peek. A baby girl was fast asleep amidst all the blankets, although heavens knew how she'd managed to fall asleep with the deafening roar of the engine. She had black hair and, most notably of all, a scar on her forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt.

"Is that where...?" Professor McGonagall began tentatively.

"Yes," Alberta replied solemnly "That's where she got avada kedavra-ed."

"...You have such a delicate way of putting things, Dumbledore."

"Why thank you, my dear Professor. I suppose we had best get things moving along then, hm?" Alberta reached forwards and gently took the child from Hilgrid's arms. She turned towards number four Privet Drive and let out a sigh. "Such an unfortunate family."

Professor McGonagall glanced from Alberta to the Dursley's front door and back again. "Oh, you _can't_ be serious."

"They are the only family she has left."

"They both _loathe_ our kind and they _especially_ loathed Lily Potter! What on earth makes you think they'd want her _daughter_?!"

"It's the best place for her." Alberta stated firmly, despite all evidence to the contrary. "I have written them a letter and everything."

"_Jesus_."

"This is the only way. She will be able to grow up without all the pressure of fame from the wizarding world...she will be able to have a _childhood_."

"They'll lock her in a cupboard and make Cinderella's upbringing look enviable." Professor McGonagall said, unaware of just how uncannily accurate his prediction was. "She is going to have the worst childhood ever."

"But a childhood nonetheless!" Alberta remarked optimistically, making towards the door. She was stopped, however, when she felt a hand upon her shoulder.

"Can I say goodbye to her, ma'am?" Hilgrid asked, a solitary tear falling down her cheek. It disappeared into her tangled mess of a beard as she waited for an answer.

"...Oh, go on then." Alberta relented, turning back around to face the half-giant. She really didn't have time for such melodramatics.

Hilgrid took a step forwards. "Goodbye" she said emotionally, voice wavering a little.

A vaguely awkward pause.

"...was that it?" Alberta queried unsurely.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Right. I see." The silver-haired woman looked Hilgrid up and down. "Very...poignant, thank you Hilgrid."

"My pleasure, Professor Dumbledore, ma'am."

Dedicating just a second longer to stare at Hilgrid in sort of vaguely bewildered kind of way - a venture which Professor McGonagall only too happily joined her in - Alberta made her way towards the front door once more. She carefully laid the baby down upon the doorstep and, after a minute of searching inside her cloak, produced a letter which she placed gently upon the bundle. Then, after noticing a lost McDonalds french fry nestled snugly amidst the blankets and popping it into her mouth, she moved back to stand between her companions.

"There we are," Alberta said between chews "Our work here is done."

"I still don't think this is right." Professor McGonagall commented with a frown.

"Yes well, nobody asked for your opinion-"

"I'd best be gettin' back." Hilgrid announced suddenly, apparently unable to stand the sight of the child on the doorstep any longer. "Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, ma'am, g'night."

"Goodnight, Hilgrid."

"Yes, goodnight."

The half-giant heaved herself onto the motorcycle and within seconds was roaring into the air again and out of sight. The two Professors stood for a little while more before Professor McGonagall said "I suppose we should leave too, then."

"Yes. Quite right."

The two turned and began walking back down the street. Alberta Dumbledore waved her lighter about as they made their way, sparking the lampposts back into life.

It was only when they reached the end of the street and began rounding the corner that Professor McGonagall asked, in a manner that indicated he'd just thought of it:

"...Wait a minute...was that even legal?"

* * *

_Authors Notes: FINITO! I hope you liked it and please review and let me know what you think! It inspires me to write more sooner and also it just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside...and why wouldn't you want to make someone feel warm and fuzzy inside? _

_TheDeathlyMarshmallows_

_x_


	2. Harriet The Snake Charmer

_Authors Notes: Finally got round to writing the second chapter! My bad for taking so long...but I hope you enjoy it!_

_Also I got a question asking why Hagrid's last name has been changed to Hilgrid when the other genderbent characters have only had their first names changed and not their last. The answer is because Hagrid's last name is so often used in reference to him - and that many people do just simply think of him as 'Hagrid' rather than 'Rubeus Hagrid' - that I thought I might as well change it to Hilgrid. Also for some reason the name 'Hilgrid' had be laughing a bit so I changed it._

_Oh, and I'd just like to add that there are probably a few punctuation errors here and there or the such like - I really do only write fanfic as a small hobby and it's not something I take hugely seriously, despite finding it a lot of fun. Not to say I'm purposefully lazy with grammar etc, but it's just perhaps not my top priority and nothing is so major as to make it unreadable anyway... I don't think._

_ANYWAY - enough from me - enjoy the chapter!_

* * *

**'Yer a witch, Harriet!**

* * *

2.

HARRIET THE SNAKE CHARMER

* * *

It had been almost ten years since Petunia Dursley had opened the front door and, upon seeing her orphaned niece lying on the doorstep, let out a scream of pure despair.

It had been almost ten years since Harriet Potter had thus been begrudgingly accepted into number four Privet Drive, although any indicators to such a fact had been meticulously and continually vanquished from the household. There were no photographs of Harriet, no scribbled drawings from her toddler years stuck upon the fridge. In fact if you had not met Harriet yourself you would be hard pressed to work out that she was living there at all.

This was mainly because both Vernon and Petunia Dursley harboured a deep, seething hatred for her in favour of their larger and much uglier child Doretta (parents can only muster up so much love to go around, after all). There was also the small fact of Harriet's lineage, which Petunia took particular distaste to in a rather ironic fashion considering they were relatives.

Despite this incredibly hostile environment, it was with the Dursley's that Harriet stayed. In a cupboard under the stairs, to be precise.

"WAKE UP! NOW! GET UP!"

The piercing shriek belonged to Aunt Petunia, who was under the firm belief that every day should start with a good verbal assault in Harriet's direction. She also enjoyed vigorous boxing matches with the cupboard door when it took her fancy.

Today, as it happened, was just such a day.

_BANG BANG BANG_.

"ARE YOU UP YET?!"

Harriet, who had been sound asleep mere moments before, was now both up _and_ the human embodiment of a train wreck (which would surely please her aunt). Sat bolt upright, gasping for breath with eyes so wide they threatened to pop out, Harriet Potter thought she might be suffering from a minor heart attack.

"ANSWER ME! ARE YOU AWAKE?!"

"Yes, I'm awake!" Harriet responded tetchily, still finding it hard to breathe "You jumped me!"

"Well excuse me for welcoming you into our home!" Aunt Petunia snapped back, as she always did whenever Harriet suggested she had done something wrong or impolite "I didn't have to you know, I could have left you out there on the doorstep!"

"I didn't-"

"A bit of gratitude wouldn't go amiss after everything we've done for you, young lady!"

"But-"

"Now get up! I want you to cook the breakfast while I fetch Doretta. Everything has to be perfect for her birthday, do you understand?"

Harriet had actually almost forgotten. She gave an aggrieved groan at the unwelcome news.

"_What was that_?" Aunt Petunia demanded through the cupboard door.

"Nothing...just the, uh, floorboards creaking."

A slight pause. Harriet could almost _sense_ the look of suspicion on her aunt's pinched face.

"...Just hurry up and put the bacon on" Petunia eventually relented. Harriet heard her move away from the door and start up the stairs towards Doretta's room.

Heaving a heavy sigh Harriet wriggled out of the covers of her bed and pulled on some clothes, which was a very difficult task to complete given the fact she only had a small cupboard to manoeuvre in. To add insult to this grave injury, Harriet didn't even have _nice_ clothes to put on either. They were Doretta's hand-me-downs, meaning that they were both vastly too large for her and also relentlessly hideous. (Aunt Petunia had a terrible and completely unmatched eye for revolting trends in fashion, which was a fact she would neither acknowledge nor apologise for).

Once she had struggled into her clothes Harriet crawled out of the cupboard and got to her feet, indulging in a well-earned morning stretch. She was rather skinny and short for her age, which was in all likelihood due to spending the majority of her time squashed in a dark cupboard. She also had green eyes, framed by large, round glasses, and a long wild mess of black hair. Harriet wasn't overly fond of her appearance but she did take a great deal of pride in the lightning bolt shaped scar on her forehead, which she felt looked very dramatic and 'cool'. She had asked her aunt how she had gotten it once but Petunia had merely rolled her eyes and unsympathetically muttered something about "That car crash your parents got themselves killed in" before going back to watching Celebrity Masterchef.

Adjusting her glasses slightly, which always seemed a little askew no matter what she did, Harriet walked down the hall and into the kitchen, where she put a frying pan onto the stove and generally went about the task of making everyone breakfast. This was something an almost ten year old certainly shouldn't have been doing but both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had insisted to Harriet that such chores were 'character building'. Harriet suspected they weren't since Doretta never had to do them but she was in no position to negotiate since she had, after all, been generously 'welcomed' into their home.

As she was waiting for the bacon to fry Harriet glanced over to the dining table. Although technically she couldn't actually _see_ the table, so it was more the vast amount of Doretta's presents that she was looking at. However the sight seemed awfully unfair to Harriet, who was currently living in a cupboard, so she quickly turned her attention back to the bacon instead.

"Do something about your hair!" Uncle Vernon generously suggested as he entered the kitchen, making his way over to the dining table and taking one of the few seats not submerged in presents. He then opened up a newspaper and began to read, ignoring Harriet's existence to the best of his abilities.

Before Harriet even had time to be mildly offended by her uncle's actions, the ominous sound of Doretta's heavy footsteps on the stairs could be heard. Each colossal crash of a foot on a step gave a loud and clear warning to all who had the utter misfortune to be nearby - _give me attention and do what I say or I'll stamp on you like I'm stamping on these stairs._

Harriet remained somewhat unfazed, having had to put up with Doretta's catastrophic personality for essentially the entirety of her life so far. Yet Uncle Vernon, who had spent a similar amount of time sharing the same house with Doretta, could boast no such cool exterior. Each crash on a step caused him to shake with dread and horror as the impending arrival of his only daughter came ever closer. When Doretta's terrifying form finally entered the kitchen, the bacon was almost done and Uncle Vernon had turned an alarming corpse-like pallor. In fact, the entire atmosphere of the room seemed to have plummeted with all the speed and intent of a crashing meteor (and it had never been good to begin with).

"Presents." Was the first thing Doretta said, although whether it was a question or merely a statement was rather unclear.

Uncle Vernon took it is as the former. "Yes. Thirty-six of them, my dear!"

Sadly for everybody present - including Aunt Petunia who could just be made out behind Doretta's vast frame - this did not please Doretta at all. She turned her gaze on her father, her small blue eyes full of unjustified hatred and loathing. "I had, like, forty presents last year".

"But your presents _this_ year are much larger and more expensive, Doretta dear-"

"I DON'T CARE, I WANT AS MANY AS I DID LAST YEAR," Doretta screamed, and Harriet was fairly sure the entire house shook from the sheer intensity of it, "LAST YEAR I HAD MORE THAN THIS. IT'S NOT FAIR."

Aunt Petunia, ever the loving mother, saw an opportunity to avert the incoming Doretta tantrum crisis and took it as quickly as humanly possible. "W-Well, we haven't counted the presents we're going to buy you at the zoo today, have we?"

Doretta took a moment the process this information, something which seemed to cause her great inner strife and turmoil, before relenting on the matter.

"Alright," She said, stomping over to the table and taking a seat that creaked under her weight, "So long as I get as many presents as last year."

"I never get any presents." Harriet offered to the conversation pleasantly, but was promptly shut down when Aunt Petunia hit her swiftly over the head and pushed her away from the cooker.

"That's because you're a liability to the family, just like your mother was," Her aunt snapped, "Now go and sit down before you break something."

Thinking that if anything was going to break, it was surely going to be Doretta's chair, Harriet slunk over to the table and took the last remaining seat.

"No not there," Uncle Vernon barked from across the table, his eyes just visible over the top of the newspaper, "Where will your aunt sit?"

"But-"

"Get up, get up. You would think we had brought you up to have no manners, for goodness sake. And sort out your hair."

Harriet, mustering up a great deal of patience and self-resolve, got up from her seat and moved to stand beside the table instead. She would have asked whether she could simply move the presents on the fourth chair onto the floor instead so she could have a seat, but she knew better. Doing so would have only induced another tantrum from Doretta and a lengthy monologue from Aunt Petunia about how 'gracious' and 'kind' they were to have accepted Harriet into their home at all.

Aunt Petunia served the breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast (Harriet only received one strip of bacon and half a slice of toast) before going to answer the phone which had just started to ring.

While she was absent, Harriet watched, chewing on her bacon, as Doretta began the momentous task of trying to simultaneously unwrap her presents while devouring her enormous plate of food. Surprisingly, she coped with the situation quite well by stuffing every piece of bacon into her mouth and vigorously chewing while unwrapping the first present (an iPad). Then she moved onto the eggs, piling them atop the toast and cramming them both into her large mouth together as she started unwrapping the second present (a One Direction calendar). Harriet, quite against all her morals and beliefs, found she had garnered a sort of disgusted new-found respect for her cousin and her eating capabilities.

"Vernon, an absolute catastrophe has happened!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice echoed from the hallway. She hurried back into the kitchen, looking as though the Third World War had been declared. "Mrs. Figg fell down her stairs, tripped over one of her cats. She's broken both her arms and legs."

"_Oh no!_" Harriet said, quite genuinely and in a very heartfelt manner. Although she had never really been fond of Mrs. Figg, on account of her being really quite insane and obsessed with cats, she would never wish for something so truly terrible to happen to her.

Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, glanced in Harriet's direction with an expression of complete confusion and judgement on her pinched face. "I haven't reached the bad part yet."

"Oh."

"She can no longer have _you_ for the day. We're going to have to...have to..." Here, Aunt Petunia trailed off looking rather ill and as though she might vomit.

Luckily, Uncle Vernon was ready to complete her sentence for her. "We're going to have to take _the girl_ with us."

Aunt Petunia let out a weeping noise at this and collapsed onto the vacant seat, burying her head in her hands. If anybody else had entered the room at this point, they would have been well within their rights to assume somebody had just died, such was the sorrow that had befallen the Dursleys.

"I'll phone my sister," Uncle Vernon said desperately, "I'll phone Marge."

"She practically wants her dead, Vernon. She won't take her."

"Well what about...what about a friend of ours? A neighbour? Somebody must be able to take her, surely."

Aunt Petunia raised her head from her hands just long enough to give Uncle Vernon a look that suggested he was the most idiotic person to walk the planet. "Nobody else knows she _exists_, Vernon. We pretend she doesn't live here."

This reminder truly stumped Uncle Vernon, who even put the paper back down onto the table such was the significance of the current situation. "This changes everything." He said in a dramatic, hushed tone. "The day is ruined."

"I could just stay here." Harriet suggested, having not bat an eyelid at her Aunt and Uncle's blatant hatred of her. "I won't cause any trouble. I'll just watch some TV-"

"AND USE UP ALL THE ELECTRICITY?!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, suddenly full of vigour after what had looked to be the starts of a genuine mental breakdown. "IS IT NOT ENOUGH THAT WE GIVE YOU A CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS TO SLEEP IN? A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD? MUST YOU KEEP TAKING AND TAKING FROM US?!"

"IDIOT." Doretta contributed kindly.

"Well then I could read a book or-" Harriet began.

"No," Aunt Petunia snarled, with all the contempt and loathing of a woman who had been forced to adopt her deceased sister's daughter due to the child having been literally plonked right on her front doorstep by a crazed old woman wearing half-moon spectacles who had absolutely no right to do so in the first place, "I am not letting you have free reign over our house. I'll come back and you'll have set it all on fire."

"But why would I-"

"Don't you back-chat your aunt, you ungrateful brat." Uncle Vernon interrupted, reaching over the table to take Harriet's uneaten slice of toast and claim it for himself. "We'll have to take you with us. But if anybody asks, you're not anything to do with us. You're just some friend of Doretta's."

* * *

It had taken precisely three quarters of an hour to soothe the ensuing temper tantrum from Doretta. There had been yells of "SHE'S NOT MY FRIEND, I HATE HER" and screams of "JUST LOCK HER IN THE SHED", but she was finally coaxed out of the house and into the car with the promise of five extra presents.

Harriet, who had optimistically assumed she could simply walk out the front door and get into the car, had been violently pulled aside by her uncle.

"I don't want to hear you speak or cough or breathe for the entire trip, you understand?" Uncle Vernon had hissed in her ear, "If you do anything to compromise the joy of visiting the zoo, apart from the sad fact of your being with us, then I will lock you in that cupboard for a week. Are we clear?"

Harriet hadn't really had a choice in the matter, so she had simply nodded her confirmation and hopped into the car.

The car ride was mainly uneventful, except for a minor blip when Uncle Vernon was discussing motorcycles and the general terrible decline of the younger generation.

"Nobody used to ride motorcycles like a lunatic in my day, but now you see all these hoodlums speeding around causing the tyres to screech round corners and-"

"I dreamt about a flying motorcycle last night." Harriet said nonchalantly.

Aunt Petunia, in the front passenger seat, turned round to stare at her niece in absolute disgust. "What ever are you talking about?"

"Well-"

"No." Aunt Petunia interrupted firmly. "_No._ Never speak again for the rest of your miserable life."

And that was that.

* * *

The day at the zoo turned out to be full of surprises.

Firstly, they had chosen a very sunny and pleasant Saturday to visit. This meant that there were many other families queuing for tickets and the Dursleys, most unaccustomed to interacting with the 'common rabble', had to wait their turn just like everyone else. This seemed to come as a great revelation to Aunt Petunia, who had been under the delusion that they would be allowed straight in.

"But we're middle-class." She kept saying, in complete disbelief. _"We're middle-class."_

Uncle Vernon made a splendid display of agreeing with his wife, commenting loudly that there should be separate queues for lower-class and middle-class. They were either blissfully unaware of the uncomfortable atmosphere they were cultivating around them, or were simply too middle-class to care.

Secondly, it came as quite a shock to both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia that they were expected to buy Harriet ice creams and similar items since they were also purchasing such things for themselves and Doretta. When they tried to buy only three ice creams at the stall, the boy in the van looked curiously down at Harriet and asked whether she was going to have one too. Uncle Vernon tried to steer them all immediately away from the vicinity of the stall, but Harriet was eager to make the most of her first trip to the zoo and replied that yes, yes she would like an ice cream thank you very much. Uncle Vernon, begrudgingly, paid for the ice cream and handed it to her, though he gave her a glare that could have caused concern to Satan himself.

And last, but certainly not least, came the incident at the reptile house.

Doretta spent approximately two minutes with her face pressed up hard against one of the glass windows, trying to force the large, sleeping snake within the enclosure to move simply with the power of her mind. Unfortunately Doretta had never boasted much of a mind and nor did she have much patience, so the entire endeavour collapsed in a very speedy fashion and she ended up sloping off to look at a lizard in a different enclosure. On her way she managed to punch Harriet hard in the arm, which was a bonus and put a triumphant smile back on her face.

It was less of a bonus for Harriet, however, on account of the fact it caused a lot of pain and a severe dent in her dignity. She shuffled over to where Doretta had stood just moments before, and was more than a little repulsed to see the imprint of her cousin's sweaty face still just about visible on the glass surface of the window.

"I'm so sorry about her," Harriet said quietly to the snake, because she didn't have any real friends and thought talking to a sleeping snake was better than nothing, "She's a fan of One Direction."

This absolutely justified explanation seemed to awaken the snake from its slumber, as it slowly raised its head to meet eyes with Harriet, who stared back in astonishment. Then, as if her display of amazement wasn't quite enough to content the snake, it had the audacity to wink.

_"Get out."_ Harriet breathed, not quite able to come to terms with what was happening.

The snake seemed confused at this, if such a thing is possible for a snake to do, and it pointed around the enclosure with the end of its tail, as if to say: "Well obviously I can't, can I?" Figures of speech, it appeared, were something that were completely lost on snakes.

"No, no," Harriet amended quickly, not wanting to lose the only friend she'd ever had within seconds of meeting them, "I just meant... wow!"

However, Harriet wasn't the only person who thought the snakes actions were something to marvel at. Doretta suddenly came thundering over with the speed and purpose of a small ox and smashed Harriet out of the way with a simple swing of a meaty arm. "MOVE, WORM!"

Harriet personally found this sudden change in events quite difficult to take. This was partly because she had essentially just been assaulted and sent hurtling to the hard floor, but mainly because Doretta had just robbed her of her one and only friend. She glared furiously at her cousin, who was now pressed up once again against the glass, and wished something horrible would happen to her.

And, in the most shocking turn of events that day, the glass simply disappeared. One moment it was there and Doretta was squashed up against it, and the next it had gone and Doretta was nose-diving into the enclosure in a most undignified and ungraceful manner.

Harriet found herself once again in a state of disbelief and was given absolutely no time to try and muster up some semblance of self-composure as the snake leisurely slid out of the enclosure and onto the floor beside her.

The entirety of the reptile house was in a state of pure panic and terror, with people running for the exit doors and pushing each other out of the way. But for a brief second, Harriet and the snake shared a moment of utter tranquillity.

"Thankssss, small human." The snake hissed, which came as yet another shock to Harriet who had always been under the safe assumption that snakes couldn't talk.

"T-That's alright." She managed to reply, watching as the snake slithered past, round a corner and out of sight.

This was the third real tragedy that happened in Harriet's life - the first being an orphan and the second having had to live with the Dursleys - because she had just managed to make her first friend and then had to watch as it left in a very casual manner that indicated it would probably forget her by the end of the day.

Unfortunately for Harriet, nobody much cared for the great personal loss she had just suffered. Aunt Petunia was letting out one long, drawn out shriek of pure panic as she stood beside the enclosure, being really quite colossally unhelpful to her daughter who was still floundering about inside. The zoo keepers were also rather agitated, to put it mildly, and one was on their mobile phone to the police, leaving a very garbled message about "Snake - glass - gone - fat child".

Uncle Vernon was the most composed as he stormed over to Harriet and pulled her to her feet. "You're going to regret you were ever born, girl." He whispered, fixing her with a furious glare.

Harriet gulped as her uncle let go of her and moved to actually offer his only daughter some kind of aid. As she stood there, in a state of absolute bewilderment, Harriet tried to more or less come to terms with the fact she may well be spending the remainder of her life locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

* * *

_Authors Notes: daMN IT HARRIET, YOU'RE TEARING THIS FAMILY APART._

_Reviews are massively appreciated as always and I may even sing your praises if you leave me one, no matter how long or short! It's also nice to get an idea if people are enjoying this enough to continue with at any rate!_

_TheDeathlyMarshmallows_

_x_


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